Valley of the Shadow
by hermymad
Summary: What if things had turned out differently the day Jo and Laurie went skating? What if Amy hadn't been quite so lucky? A look at how Jo deals with her little sister's death and the consequences on everyone around her.
1. Meeting Apollyon

A/N: So this started life as a one shot (funny how I always seem to say this) which will probably grow arms and legs, or several adjoining chapters at any rate. Hope you enjoy and please leave a review should time and inclination allow!

Disclaimer: All characters etc are the creation of LMA and whilst I may nudge them in different directions (so far as a certain Josephine March can be nudged anywhere she does not strongly wish to go,) I do not own them.

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Meeting Apollyon

Jo stood, staring out of the window at the snow as it drifted lazily down from the sky to gently kiss the window pane then swirl away on a light gust of wind. She watched it with a queer kind of detachment, as though it was someone else's eyes that saw the pale flakes, someone else's body that stood hugging itself tightly to keep from falling apart. Nothing felt right and nothing ever would be right again, for Amy was dead.

Amy was dead and it was all her fault.

If only she had allowed Amy to come to the theatre with them, if only she hadn't flown into such a hateful rage when her sister burnt the stupid manuscript, if only she hadn't ignored Amy when she had followed them onto the ice, if she had been faster when she had fallen in, but wishing was pointless. She might just as easily have wished away the pneumonia that set in after the littlest March's frozen encounter, it was all hopeless now. For week Jo had barely left her sister's bedside, trying to manage the fever that raged through her fragile body, listening to her breathing slowly becoming more laboured and arduous and then finally stopping altogether.

The family had clung together, supporting Marmee in her grief, trying to carry on. It was only in the quiet moments, when she thought no one could hear that Jo retreated to her garret, turned the key in the lock and sobbed hot, bitter tears. Accidents happened, her mother said, they might be unfortunate and tragic, but they were still accidents and there was nothing to be done about it. Well accidents seemed to have a habit of happening when Jo was around and they were usually caused by her infernal temper. A temper that had killed her little sister.

"What about this Jo?"

She turned at the sound of Meg's voice. The three girls were in the room Amy had shared with Beth, shifting listlessly through her things. Now that the funeral was over Marmee intended to give most of Amy's belongings to those who needed them more, but some things she wished to keep as mementos and she had told the others they could choose whatever they wanted to remember Amy by. Blinking to bring herself back into the world Jo focused on the object in Meg's hand; it was a book of Amy's. With movements that felt stiff and jerky Jo smoothed the hateful black skirt she was wearing and crossed the room. As she took it from her, Meg's eyes were red and her hands trembled, but she still managed to place one on her sister's arm and tried to give it a comforting squeeze. Jo winced, everyone was being so nice; she didn't think she could bear it for much longer.

As Meg turned back to the drawer she was sorting through Jo thumbed distractedly through the book. She knew why Meg had picked it, she had thought a book most likely of all Amy's possessions to interest her wordy sister and it had been a nice thought, but it wasn't right. If Jo was going to have something to remember Amy by she wanted something that embodied her sister, and a book just wasn't it. She began to drift round the room again, running her hand idly across surfaces, her lifeless eyes oblivious to the worried look Beth was giving her.

As the quietest of all the Marches Beth had gotten very good at observing her siblings over the years and none more so than Jo, whom she doted upon. The change in her sister since Amy had died was alarming her. She didn't think any of the others had seen it yet, or at least not enough to worry them. Of course they knew she was grieving, they all were, but whilst Jo was trying to carry on for everyone else's sake it was as though a part of her had died along with Amy. She was gaunt and drawn, her movements were wooden, her voice quiet and subdued. Shadows continually plagued her face as she moved about the house trying to be the strong and sturdy Jo everyone expected, but it was all pretence. Beth knew she shut herself away to cry at times, she could see the hastily brushed away tear stains on her face afterwards, but neither of them spoke about it. There were two things that worried her most of all however, she couldn't remember the last time she had seen her sister pick up a pen, certainly not since Amy's accident, and most importantly it was now nearly three weeks since she had properly seen Laurie.

The boy had barely left the house during Amy's short illness, but he had only entered the sick room once, allowing the family to nurse her and then finally to say their goodbyes in private. Instead he had haunted their sitting room or spent hours sitting at the foot of the stairs trying to help in any way that was needed, but Beth also suspected it had been more for Jo than for any of the rest of them. When the little angel's final breaths had fluttered out Jo had thanked him, but asked him to leave. Through her own tears Beth had seen the crushed expression on his face as her older sister embraced him briefly then pushed him swiftly from the house. It was almost as though the touch caused her physical pain. Laurie had returned several times since, but on each occasion Jo had either been too busy with some inconsequential task, or would immediately rush off to help Marmee in the kitchen leaving an apologetic Meg or Beth to apologise to their neighbour.

For now she kept her worries to herself; Beth suspected that Jo blamed herself for Amy's death, for having gone skating with Laurie in the first place, and that she was now trying to punish herself for it. The one time she had attempted broaching the subject however it had been deflected and Jo had scurried off to help Marmee make a pie, an almost unheard of activity in itself. If things continued though she knew she would need help in coaxing her sister back to life.

Jo continued her aimless wander across the room, finding herself quite by accident standing by Amy's bed, the blanket neatly tucked around, the pillow where so often a golden head had lain was plump, undisturbed except for the tiny porcelain doll resting atop it. Eyes suddenly full of tears glanced quickly away, seeking distraction elsewhere. On the cabinet by the bed were paints, arranged neatly alongside her brushes and a coil of ribbons; next to these was a single wooden clothes peg.

Jo's breath caught as she traced the grain of the wood with one long, inky finger imagining all the times she had laughed at Amy when the little chit had twirled about the room in her nightdress and hair ribbons desperate for her nose to have more pleasing form. Picking it up Jo rolled it between her fingers for a moment before slipping it into her pocket. Then without a word to either Meg or Beth she quietly left the room.

She wasn't sure where she was going as she wandered blindly through the empty house and it wasn't until she found herself staring at coats and scarves hanging neatly from pegs that she realised she was in the hallway. Pulling one of them on she located her snow boots and briskly laced them up before snatching a scarf and going outside. The first blast of icy air as she opened the door seemed to revive something in her and she began to run across the snow-covered garden. By the time she had reached the far side she was sobbing, frozen tears streaking across her cheeks, stinging and biting as they went.

As she reached the trees Jo's foot caught awkwardly on a stick protruding from the white blanket beneath her feet. Snatching it up in a flash of temper she smashed it against the tree, continuing to pummel the blameless bark and venting all the grief, anger and frustration that had been bottled up inside her for weeks. Chips of wood sprayed in all directions, but Jo barely noticed, not stopping even when one flew so close to her eye that a sliver of hot blood trickled down her cheek, mixing with the salt tears as it went. It wasn't until the stick in her hand snapped clean in two and she was left clutching the shattered ends that she finally sank sobbing to her knees, heedless of the way her skirt instantly began to draw moisture into itself.

Everything was her fault, the fight that had led to Amy's death, the accident, everything. She should have known better, been better, she was older and she had been given plenty of warnings before now, plenty of moments when her temper had conquered reason and led her to disaster. She should have known that one day she would be made to pay dearly for her mistakes, but why did Amy have to pay too?

She would try harder to do better in future, Jo resolved. She would be quiet and patient and dutiful and all the things a good daughter was supposed to be. She would give up her wild ways, her madcap eccentricities, even her boyishness. She would behave when and how Aunt March told her to and she would learn to cook properly, and clean and sew and do everything that was expected of a well brought up young lady. None of it would bring her little sister back again, but it would be penitence and by curbing her rashness she could ensure that nothing like this would ever happen again.

With slow, deliberate motions Jo rose from her knees, wiped away the melting snow that clung to them and brought her gloved fingers to her bleeding cheek. It had all but stopped now. Funny, how she still couldn't feel it in the cold.

Turning on her heel she began to walk back towards the house, her tread slower and her burden much heavier than it had been only minutes ago.


	2. Holding her tongue

A/N: Firstly, allow me to extend profuse and grovelling apologies for taking so long to get the second chapter of this done, I've been suffering from writer's block and it's been driving me mad! Secondly I hope to be more prompt with the rest of the story, but I won't promise – you can't make me!

Disclaimer: If this was LMA's it would be bound and pretty in a book, on a shelf, in a store or library somewhere, as it is I am not she and the best I can manage is the internet. Please accept my apologies for this and for the borrowing of her illustrious characters.

Holding her tongue

"Oh, look!" Beth March exclaimed in what was an unusually loud voice for such a normally quiet soul. "Here comes Laurie!" She glanced over at her sister who was busy attempting to complete some embroidery; it was fraying about the edges and judging by the scarlet spots covering her fingers she had stabbed herself as many times as the cotton, but on the whole it was a good attempt for Jo. She was definitely improving. As Beth spoke however she winced as the needle came to rest in flesh rather than fabric once more.

"Is he?" Jo's eyes remained upon her work as she concentrated on biting back a curse, watching as a drop of blood welled up on the tip of her finger. There was little emotion in her voice at the question, but Beth could see the flush creep into her cheeks as her gaze remained downcast.

Beth opened her mouth to answer, but the brisk knock on the door beat her to it. With the smallest of sighs Jo placed her embroidery carefully on the little table next to her and rose to receive their guest.

Standing on the other side of the March's front door, Theodore Laurence waited patiently for it to be opened. When it finally was, there was little of the exuberance he would have found in the girl opposite him a few months earlier. Instead Jo creaked the door open wide enough that he could see her face and little else other than a thin, black slice of the dress she was wearing.

"Hello Laurie." The expression in her voice was as limited as that on her face; her emotions, as they had been since Amy's death, were carefully controlled and he could gain little idea of what she was thinking or feeling from her face.

"Hello Jo," he shuffled uncomfortably out on the cold porch. When it became apparent she wasn't going to invite him in or indeed even invite further conversation he forged ahead himself. "I brought over this book. I thought you might like to borrow it." He passed the book across and watched with something approaching nervousness as she perused the title.

"Thank you. That was very kind." The banality of this comment between two friends who had up until recently shared nearly everything irked him beyond words. What perplexed him even more however was his inability to drag Jo back from whatever dark place she had become lost inside. He would carry her kicking and screaming if he had to, he just needed to find a way to reach her. When she had finally allowed him back into the house the other week, rather than just nodding stiffly in greeting whenever they passed each other, he had thought he was beginning to make progress. Unfortunately she still seemed to be freezing him out, both literally and metaphorically he mused stamping his feet as his breath formed icy clouds in front of his face.

There was a long pause as the two of them tried to size each other up.

"May I come in?" Laurie was forced to ask eventually.

"Oh, of course," Jo took several steps back, swinging the door open as she went and inviting her friend inside. More awkward than he had ever felt in the March household, he walked with quick steps towards the sitting room.

"Laurie!" Beth looked up in delight and he felt himself smile. At least one of the sisters seemed genuinely pleased to see him and within minutes the two of them were chattering gaily about music, or at least Laurie was chattering whilst Beth listened with rapt attention. Jo looked on from the side, her placid face masking emotions in tumult. If only he had known how genuinely pleased she was to see him, but she was endeavouring to be seemly and it would be decidedly un-so to make such a fuss. Not that it would ordinarily have stopped her. Despite her resolution to be more ladylike she wouldn't have let it interfere with her friendship on its own, but it was as though someone had built a wall around her emotions since Amy died and she didn't know how to break it down again. She felt trapped inside her own head with all her thoughts and feelings, all her frustration that the only Jo March anyone ever saw any more was the polite, quiet, demure lady she had become. For others that wouldn't have mattered, it may even have been an improvement, but with Laurie it made her stiff, awkward and inarticulate.

Her two companions had progressed to tinkering on the piano by the time Jo even got around to saying anything else.

"That's a beautiful tune Laurie. Is it a new one you've learnt?"

The gentle melody stopped and the boy turned to face her. "No, I wrote it myself." There was a pause as though he had thought better of saying something but then continued anyway. "Of course you'd know that if you dropped by to visit any more." There was little blame in those dark eyes, but Jo found she couldn't meet them all the same. If she had she might have seen the pleading in them, he was trying so hard to reach out to her and with the old Jo a direct approach would have been best. Now he wasn't so sure, he felt as though he hardly knew her any more. For her part, Jo's gaze skated sideways to her sister's face as Beth anxiously looked from one to the other, before making a move to rise.

"I should perhaps… Marmee wanted me to… Please excuse me." Without further ceremony she slipped out leaving Jo with limited options, she could either watch the fire crackle in the grate or she could do what she knew she should and meet Laurie's eyes. Meet the challenge implicit in his statement.

She didn't know how long she would have looked at the flickering flames for if something of the old Jo hadn't battled it's way up within her. She just couldn't sit there and have him judge her, judge her absence in the way she knew he was doing. What was more infuriating still was that when she did eventually drag her eyes back up to his there was a knowing smirk playing about his mouth as though he had been sure she would do this all along.

"Well you needn't look so pleased with yourself about it," she informed him tartly, deliberately misreading his expression. "It might be beautiful, but it's not exactly Beethoven or Mozart is it?"

"So long as you like it Jo, I'm delighted with it," came the reply. She resisted the urge to cross her arms and sigh at his flippancy. Why could he never just be sensible? Unfortunately Marmee's well rehearsed warning of 'be careful what you wish for' proved to be abundantly true. Within moments all trace of mirth had vanished from Laurie's face. "The point still stands though; I haven't seen you in an age, you never come round to visit and – gosh, I can't even remember the last time I saw you have any sort of fun!"

"I do have fun!" Jo was stung by the accusation. "Don't be so dramatic Laurie!"

"Well someone dearly needs to be, for you certainly aren't any more. Whatever happened to all the plays we used to put on?" She could tell that he was getting angry now, his voice rose sharply as he threw the question at her.

"They were silly and childish," she informed him hoping to inject some sincerity into her voice as she said it, to impress upon him that things just couldn't be as they once were. Why couldn't he see that? "We all need to grow up at some time, Theodore."

His face darkened ominously at her use of his Christian name. Standing abruptly he strode towards the window and stared out, hands thrust deep into his pockets and chin jutting out rebelliously. For a long minute she watched his back, regretting her lapse of temper. It was part of the reason she had stayed away from Laurie as much as possible; she had always been able to let her guard down with him, be herself, so he was the last person she should be around when trying to remould herself.

When he finally spoke again his words were clipped and terse. "Maybe we do _Josephine_, but what you're doing isn't growing up, it's hiding. You're pretending to be someone you're not and for the life of me I can't see why. It isn't going to bring Amy back you know!" The moment the words flew out of his mouth Laurie seemed to regret them, his shoulders hunched slightly against a blow he expected to fall.

As for Jo, she was more than ready to give it. At the mention of Amy's name she saw red, jumping to her feet, tongue prepared to deliver a stinging blow. How dare he bring her sister into it! And to accuse her of hiding, why, that wasn't what she had been doing at all! Her mouth was open to issue such a denial and a string of hurtful words were poised to spring forth in what would undoubtedly be an impressive tirade, but at the very last second she checked herself. Some of the training she had imposed upon herself over the past few months must have taken root somewhere. With one foot set forth to fly at the Laurence boy she rocked back on her heel and bit her tongue to silence it. As she inhaled deeply to still her whirling thoughts he turned to look at her and she narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"I think it might be best if you went home now, Laurie." She spoke with all the dignity and poise she could muster. Without waiting for his response she pivoted and walked towards the hallway. For a moment she stood there, her hand resting on the front door, unsure if he was going to follow and not caring if she was being rude. An icy, white anger had settled in her veins and she knew her options were either to remove him from her company as quickly as possible or shout at him until she was hoarse, and she wasn't sure she would be able to stop even then.

After a moment he stepped after her and without a word walked sombrely towards the door. Halfway out he paused and looked back at her. "I am sorry Jo," his voice was softer now. "I didn't come round to cause trouble, truly. Just..." he hesitated for a moment. "Just don't stay furious with me forever, please?"

They stood there, her eyes fixed belligerently on the curve of his shoulder, jaw set mulishly, before finally she relented and gave a brief nod.

Knowing it was the best he could hope for Laurie turned and walked out of the house.


	3. An adventure of sorts

A/N: I have no idea how long it's been since the last time I updated this story. I apologise. For anyone who is still bothering to read it, your patience is recognised, appreciated and admired!

Disclaimer: If I was LMA this chapter definitely wouldn't have taken so long.

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An adventure of sorts

"Well now, Margaret," Aunt March's onerous voice floated through to the hallway from the sitting room where she was ensconced with Marmee, "I must admit I had my doubts. A year ago I would have said that Josephine was far too harum scarum to ever consider taking on a trip to Europe. She just didn't have the disposition for it. Too opinionated, headstrong, bookish, boyish, everything a young lady ought not to be." There was a loud sniff. "She seems to have settled considerably of late though."

Sitting on the stairs listening in to every word spoken, Jo fidgeted anxiously as she waited for her great-aunt to declare whether or not she was to be taken on the great European tour that summer. The old lady had very nearly said it, had hinted strongly in fact, but she hadn't actually said the words.

Jo hadn't intended to eavesdrop, after all it was hardly polite, but she had been coming down the stairs when she had overheard her name mentioned and something of her old curiosity was piqued. She knew it was unladylike and impolite to listen to other people's conversations, but they were discussing her after all. Perhaps just this once it would be permissible?

"She does seem to have calmed considerably of late," Marmee was heard to agree cautiously. "And I can't deny that perhaps some time away from Concord would be good for her."

Jo's poor skirt would soon be in ruins if she continued twisting it between her anxious fingers much longer.

It took her great-aunt only moments to respond, but to Jo it felt an age. "That's settled then. Josephine shall accompany me to Europe in June."

The object of their discussion flew to her feet, a sudden feeling of elation thrumming through her veins; she was finally going to Europe! All of her wildest dreams were about to be fulfilled. She had spent so long hoping and dreaming of the place and now she would, at last, be taken there. It was more than a person could ever tolerably hope to accomplish in their lives. She would see the many castles of Germany, the sparkling canals of Venice, the libraries of London and the soaring churches of Rome and Paris, she would see… all the things that Amy never would. At once, the effusive excitement bled from her and she dropped onto the bottom step with a muffled thump.

Her youngest sister would also have loved to go to Europe, not for the adventure and the inspiration as Jo would, but to shop, to consort with sophisticated society and to visit the great artworks of the ages, perhaps even to paint herself. How could Jo possibly go in her stead, knowing that? Miserably she began to creep back up the stairs and had just reached her bed room door before she heard Marmee calling for her.

When the offer was made she didn't like to refuse it outright; she quibbled, insisting that she didn't deserve such an opportunity, that Meg or Beth might go instead. Aunt March was adamant, however, and having learnt to be stubborn far earlier than Jo, the old woman got her way in the end.

"What's wrong, Jo, dearest?" Marmee smoothed the hair back from her daughter's troubled face when they were alone later.

For a flash of a moment Jo considered dissembling, of telling her mother that nothing was wrong and that everything was perfectly lovely, of sparing her mother the added pain of discussing Amy. Three things stopped her from doing this. The first: that no matter how much Jo had altered recently, she was still too honest to lie to her darling Marmee, the second reason was that she knew Mrs March would never shy away from talking about her beloved angel and the third was the look in her mother's eyes as she gazed at her and said tenderly. "Come on, 'fess up dearest, as you girls say. Tell Marmee what the bother is. You were so set on going to Europe and now you act as though you don't want to go."

The cloth of Jo's skirt which had gathered around her knee suddenly became endlessly fascinating for her. It must have been an old one, because it was worn nearly through and lightly charred from standing too close to the fire in another life.

"Amy wanted to go too." The whisper had escaped her lips before Jo was quite prepared for it.

Mrs March sighed. She had tried cajoling her daughter, had tried sympathy and understanding, she had even flatly informed Jo that Amy's death had not been her fault, but none of it worked. Of course, what she wished to do more than anything was get angry, not necessarily at her dear girl, but at the world for having put her in such a position. That would help no one though; certainly not the poor forlorn child in front of her.

"Jo… don't you see, that means it is all the more important that you do go; so you can live both your life and Amy's to the fullest. She wouldn't have wanted to see you locking yourself away, turning the key on all your marvellous hopes and dreams through some notion that you were… somehow to blame for her… death." There was a catch in Marmee's voice as she struggled to get out the last of these words. Jo looked up into her mother's tender, loving face, at the lines of care placed there by her troubles and by her troublesome daughter.

"You've changed so much these last months, and if I thought it had made you happier I wouldn't question it, but you're not." She smoothed Jo's hair again as the girl continued to glare at her skirt, willing the tears to subside. "I've already had to bear the agony of losing one daughter, please don't ask me to watch another slip away too. You're so gaunt and pale these days; perhaps a trip to Europe will do you good. You can clear your head and maybe regain some of your old spirit. What do you think? Jo?"

The young Miss March's lower lip would soon be worn clean off of her face if she didn't stop worrying at it. Jo stilled the motion of her teeth and knotted her fingers together to still their restless fluttering. Her swirling thoughts were more difficult to manage, but finally Marmee's gentle fingers running through her hair did something to calm them and make her see sense. Perhaps… perhaps Europe would be good for her. She could do everything that Amy had wanted to and maybe somehow, some way, her sister would be able to enjoy them through her. If such things were possible.

"Alright, Marmee," the words were pulled from her almost reluctantly. "I'll go. Are you sure you'll be alright without me here?"

"Of course my dear," Mrs March tried to hide some of the relief she felt at this news. She was convinced that if Jo could remove herself from the shadow of Amy's death for a while, she might be able to recapture some of her old vitality, find the sun again. "I'll be happy knowing that you are enjoying yourself, though you must promise to write and tell me all about it."

"I will Marmee." Jo paused for a moment. "There must be such a great deal of planning to do before we leave, it will be a miracle if we have time to manage it all. I must go and tell Meg and Beth!"

And if Mrs March saw a little glimmer of the old light there as her daughter made swiftly, but demurely, from the room, then she kept it to herself. There was no sense in blowing out the spark.


End file.
